


a warzone could be the happiest place on earth (if i was there with you)

by halogensleep



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Avon Roleplay, Becky Does Beirut, Becky Loves Charlotte, Can Someone Get Becky An Aspirin, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Charlotte Absolutely Not Fucking Having It, Charlotte Losing Her Mind, Charlotte Protec Charlotte Attac Charlotte Scared She'll End Up In A Shack, Charlynch - Freeform, Charlynch Fluff, EVERYTHING GOES WRONG, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kidding Charlotte Gives Many Fucks, Lesbian Avon Representative Roleplay, Lesbian Romance, Lesbian Sex, Lesbian Wives, Lesbians Having Sex In A Country Where Homosexuality Carries A Prison Sentence Giving No Fucks, Lesbians Persevering In The Face Of Adversity, Nervous Charlotte, Power Bottom Becky, Ronda Doesn't Exist, Summer Vacation, There's Broken Fingers But Nobody Really Minds, They End Up In A Hot Bed Of Geopolitical Conflict, Vacation, Well If Becky Would Have The Decency Not To Break Her Fingers, charlynch one-shot, lesbian fluff, lesbian love, married charlynch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halogensleep/pseuds/halogensleep
Summary: Becky and Charlotte go on a romantic vacation to get away from the stress of it all... but things, situations, and fingers too, are about to go sideways. It's a good job these lesbian power wives have each other to fall back (and down) on.CHARLYNCH ONE SHOT





	a warzone could be the happiest place on earth (if i was there with you)

Charlotte looked to the overhead cabin for a moment to gather herself, her thoughts, her last bit of patience. The other passengers had started to disembark with grumbles and agitated, inconvenienced tsks. Charlotte refused to remove her seatbelt, still. The human sales-jingle sat beside her began to nudge her fingers towards the buckled clasp in an attempt to gain some progress.

Charlotte slapped her hand away.

“Rebecca I am not getting off of this _fucking_ plane,” Charlotte dropped her voice to a severe whisper. 

Becky lifted her chin. “Oh believe me, you are!" She nodded emphatically.

“I’m not,” Charlotte protested with a petulant shake of the head. “Nope, not doing this.”

“We’re going to get up and go to the hotel for the night,” Becky insisted softly, as if she were reassuring and placating a child throwing a tantrum. “The bus drops us off, it picks us up in the afternoon, and Bob’s your uncle, we’re off to Tel Aviv!” It was said with the most upbeat, cheery voice possible.

The human sales-jingle tried to unbuckle the seatbelt again. Charlotte slapped her hand away a little harder this time.

“Please don’t do this,” Becky warned, already anticipating the meltdown.

“Cyprus is forty minutes west. This plane is either taking us there or I’m going to sit here until a charter jet is on the runway ready for us.” Charlotte forcefully tempered her voice into a strange, deceivingly calm tone. “I’ll sit here on the tarmac all day, please try me. I am fresh out of fucks, Becky.”

“Do not do this.” Becky pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is really not the time or place to make a scene—”

“Oh, so now I’m making a scene!” Charlotte lost it, her head bobbing sarcastically. “Don’t worry, Charlotte. I’ll book a secret getaway, it will be like we’re on an episode of The Bachelor!” She parroted Becky’s words from a few, short weeks ago. “Good one, Becky! Look at us now, stuck here!” She pointed to the dusty, mountainous terrain beyond the window where civil unrest and war was brewing.

“Listen to me,” Becky lowered her voice to a tight, Irish whisper. “If you don’t march your arse off of this bloody plane I promise that you will never, ever, for as long as you live, see my _rose_ again—”

“You know what I see right now?” Charlotte snapped and fidgeted deeper into the aisle seat. “Our lives, flashing before my eyes. You promised me relaxing! And this?” Her pointer finger gestured towards everything and nothing. “This ain’t it, chief.”

“Well maybe if you stopped being so dramatic then we could start relaxing!” The Man challenged and thumped herself backwards into her seat, embarrassed and glaring. “People are staring. We’re now that couple. The couple people stare at. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

“Becky we just made an emergency landing in the _middle_ of Beirut!” Crescent-shaped marks were left either side of her nose from the pinching. “The plane had to corkscrew the landing so we didn’t get targeted by anti-aircraft fire!”

“That was a precautionary measure!” Becky snapped back.

“We are two women travelling alone who just so happen to be very western, very gay, and very famous, and you just want us to waltz off this plane into the nexus of the middle-eastern conflict. That’s what you’re asking me to do right now?” Charlotte clarified quite seriously. “Do you have a pre-made target that you want to stick on our backs or should we stop off at the gift shop to get some red paint?”

The aisles of the plane started to thin and empty out as the passengers dispersed into the arrival gate. It left them in an awkward predicament. The few other people onboard—namely, the air hostesses—beamed perfect lipstick smiles and gestured towards the aircraft exit, encouraging them to disembark, becoming more uncomfortable by the second as the couple in Row 42 continued their argument.

“I have been to places like this before and it’s not as scary as you think it is. We’re in the city, the touristy bit. And so long as we don’t go looking for trouble then trouble won’t come looking for us,” Becky urged and stood up from the seat, growing more flustered by the second. “Now, can you please move?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Charlotte furrowed into a look of disbelief. “Name one place you’ve been too that is _nearly_ as dangerous as Lebanon. Please, I’ll wait.” She raised her hands and shrugged.

“I am literally from Dublin,” Becky glowered.

“Don’t do that. You don’t get to bring up The Troubles right now. It’s not the same thing—”

“Agadir, Lahore, Karachi, Mombai, Belfast, I can reel them off quicker than you can ask where they are.” She wasn’t lying. “Oh, and the United States of America! I’ve been there a fair few times too. Now, can we get off the plane yet?” Becky cocked a look.

“Right,” Charlotte sighed and closed her eyes, remembering suddenly. “You were an air hostess - got it.”

“That word is offensive and outdated, we prefer the term _cabin crew_ ,” Becky nibbled with irritation.

“Oh I’m sorry I didn’t realise it was a racial epithet.”

“Right that is it!” Her wife burst and climbed across her lap, a knee jamming and rattling the small dinner tray as she clambered over and spilled into the aisle. “I am going to go and get in line for customs and you can come and join me when you’re finished with your temper tantrum!” Becky straightened her jacket and stormed down the galley.

 

…

 

To her surprise, the airport was modern, was metropolitan, was clean and lingering with the smell of expensive perfume from the designer duty-free stores that were dotted along the route towards customs and baggage.

When the pilot announced that the aircraft was being diverted to Beirut Rafic-Hariri Airport, Charlotte had imagined cratered buildings; taliban militants; gunfire whizzing overhead; a wartorn village with goats roaming free; children in dusty mismatching flip-flops that she would have to bribe to send SOS messages to the American embassy.

She glanced around the light airy airport terminal in disbelief as businessmen in sharp suits dodged around her. This… was not what she had in mind.

The relief was mind blowing.

The film reel of her worst case scenario was collated from movies and news coverage she had seen concerning the situation in the middle-east, or rather, places that were definitely not Beirut if the advertisements for their Gucci and Prada stores were anything to go by, Helmand Province and the Gaza Strip were certainly lacking in that department after all. Charlotte sighed and slunked through the arrivals terminal in search of her wife, well aware that she may have possibly, slightly, potentially, overreacted to the crisis.

She found Becky on a bench. She was eating something that smelled delicious, people watching, content with her solitude. Charlotte cleared her throat and stood straighter.

“Hi,” she said, nonchalantly.

“Try again,” Becky didn’t skip a beat, her tone slightly testy.

“Becky—”

“Again.” Becky insisted. “You know where this needs to start.”

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of the sacred sisterhood of the cabin crew!” Charlotte slumped and sat down beside her.

“And?” The brown eyes landed on her with a weight of expectancy.

“I’m sorry I made a scene.” Charlotte folded her arms. “Can I have a bite of your food now?”

“Not on your life.”

“A little one?” Charlotte sniffed the burrito-looking wrap with lamb spilling out of the end. “Smells good.”

“It’s a shawarma. Ah ah!” Becky hogged it away from her reaching hand. “You refused to get off the plane and made a huge scene less than six hours into our vacation. No shawarma for you.”

“Well since you’re so in love with Lebanon already we should probably go through customs and get the rest of our twenty-four hours here started.” Charlotte snatched her hand back to her lap and pouted slightly.

The food did smell very good after all.

…

 

“This is a bad idea.” Charlotte began to sweat.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Look!” She hissed and pointed at a large, bold fonted arabic sign that had been courteously translated into English. The crowd shuffled forward toward the border security officers waiting to stamp passports. Charlotte dropped her voice to a hiss, “I have been arrested before, Becky! I can’t enter the Lebanese Republic!”

“And that is why you’re going to smile, and you’re going to breathe, and when he asks if you have a criminal record, you’re definitely not going to mention you were arrested ten years ago—”

“She says, as if it wasn’t my fault!” Charlotte interrupted, displeased by the accusing tone.

“I know,” Becky hushed and patted her arm. “You’re right, it wasn’t your fault _but_ I don’t think they will care about the semantics so let’s just leave it out, alright? You are clean as whistle, never even gone over the speed-limit as far as he’s concerned. Are we clear?”

Charlotte felt tiny beads of sweat form and drip along her brow as a border security agent waved them over. The pair of them walked slowly to the man staring at them from behind the glass. Charlotte fiddled with the strings on the hoodie and pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, looking guiltier by the moment.

“How long will you be staying in Lebanon?” He took both of their passports.

“Flight DA322,” Charlotte blurted. “We diverted here, for the night. So hopefully not very long.” There was a small, uncomfortable laugh.

“Mhm.” He hmph’d and stamped their passports, glancing at them both. “Go,” he waved them through.

“Wait, that’s it?” Charlotte tilted her head slightly. “No further questions? You’re not going to ask if I have a criminal record?”

“What?” He raised an accusing brow. “Do you have a criminal record?”

“Well… define criminal?”

“No! She’s just… she’s just being silly, sir.” Becky waved her hand dismissively and grabbed Charlotte’s wrist. “She drinks a lot, not to mention the amount of Ambien she took on that flight back there! It’s a wonder she’s still on her feet...” She smiled and tugged Charlotte by the hand through the small gate. “Come on love, I’ve told you before about mixing your sleeping pills… we better find you somewhere to lie down before you say anymore very untrue not accurate things…”

Becky sighed once they were out of earshot, her entire body relaxing into a state of annoyed relief. She blinked a few times and sucked her lips between her teeth, nodding her head, trying her hardest not to be furious because this was no doubt the one vacation they would get this year. They walked through the airport towards the baggage claim while a pensive silence loomed between them.

“Charlotte, I love you, but if you get yourself thrown into a foreign jail I am fucking denying that we’re married,” Becky lowered her voice to a threatening whisper. “I am not going down for you.”

“Considering we’re in a country where homosexuality is illegal go ahead and does both a favour and stick with that plan anyway!” Charlotte hissed quietly in her ear.

 

…

 

“Oh, you’re both married!” The hotel receptionist noticed their wedding rings with a smile.

“Yes,” Charlotte forced a tight smile too and drummed her nails on the marble counter, determined to leave it at that.

“Where are your husbands?” The receptionist made pleasant talk and clicked her keyboard in search of an available room.

“Back in the States.” Charlotte wasn’t technically lying, she did have two ex-husbands after all, and for all intents and purposes, she was more than happy for Becky to borrow one of them for the next ten minutes until this ordeal was over. “We’re here on business.” The lie deepened.

“You’re here on business?” The receptionist looked up with a slightly befuddled expression. “But you’ve only asked for one room? Normally when we get people here for business they book ahead, like their own privacy, that sort of thing.” She glanced between them both.

Becky sighed and blinked rapidly. “Reduced expenditures,” she explained casually with a wave of her hand. “Our boss is a bit of a cheapskate so I’m stuck with this one for the night.”

“What is it you both do?” The receptionist blinked, her smile unwavering, the questions refusing to end.

Charlotte began to feel like maybe she was growing suspicious.

“We’re Avon representatives.” She thought on her feet.

Becky hid her mouth behind a magazine and whispered beneath her breath, “That was what you came up with?” She gave Charlotte a look.  “Avon representatives?” There was a mocking nod.

“She’s my trainee.” Charlotte beamed a bright smile and stuck to the story.

 

…

 

“Would you look at the view!” Becky gasped and stuck her hands on her hips. “Oh, I could live here. I could _honestly_ live here!” She shook her head in awestruck disbelief.

“This is where you want to live, Becky? The middle of Beirut?” It was said pointedly. Charlotte raised an exasperated eyebrow and visibly deflated with relief now the door was closed and they were in private. “I can’t with you.” She stuck out her hand and shook her head.

“Oh somebody is just grumpy because they haven’t eaten yet!” Becky pished and drew back the curtains for a better view of the city.

Charlotte opened her mouth to protest but then her stomach grumbled, she knitted her lips together and rolled her eyes at the betrayal of her gut. Truth be told, she was absolutely starving. There was a room-service menu sat on the desk and so she picked it up and gave it the once over, desperate for a reason not to answer her wife’s abundant chirpiness.

Becky turned around, her eyes widening at the menu in hand.

“We are not ordering room service, Charlotte!” Becky snapped with abject horror in her eyes. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Have you lost your mind?”

“I know,” Charlotte relented and was thankful for a bit of common ground. “I’m nervous too but this hotel is rated five stars on TripAdvisor and it was the nicest one I could find on the Marriott app. The kitchen has to be up to code—”

“You’re unbelievable.” Becky closed her eyes.

“Honey, I have Immodium in my purse we will be fine—”

“I’m not saying no to room service because I’m worried about the kitchen! I’m saying no to room service because we are _clearly_ going out tonight for dinner!” Becky opened her eyes and pointed to the city landscape outside. “Don’t you want to enjoy our vacation?”

“This was not the vacation I signed up for!” Charlotte’s eyes widened defensively.

“Well **I** am the wife you signed up for and I am telling you to change your outfit because we’re going out for dinner tonight!”

“God I hate you,” Charlotte half complained.

“Well why don’t you just go ahead and file a complaint with HR when we get back to Avon headquarters!” Becky nodded emphatically and stormed to the bathroom.

Charlotte turned her head and followed Becky with her eyes. “We could save water if we showered together—”

“Don’t even try your luck.” Becky put an immediate halt to it.

 

…

 

Beirut, as it turned out, was a clash of cosmopolitan and Ottoman architecture. It was vibrant, it was friendly, it was teeming with heat and the loud chatter of tourists and locals colliding together the closer they got to the harbour. The food was also ridiculously good. So much so that Charlotte went for a starter, main, and dessert too. An aperitif between each course to boot. Becky just stared at her the entire time with a  ‘told you so’ type smirk while the top button of her high waisted slacks was let out.

“Here’s to us,” Becky raised a glass of champagne when the meal was cleared. “All things said and done, I’d say this is a great start to our vacation.” She looked towards the glimmering evening sea beyond the terrace.

“We’ve been to worse places, sure,” Charlotte managed a small concession as she clinked her wife’s glass. “You know,” she stopped and swallowed, unsure of how to say it without Becky gloating at the change of disposition. “If we have time tomorrow maybe we could go and see those rocks the cab driver mentioned?”

“Raouche? You want to visit Raouche tomorrow morning before the bus comes?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, she changes her tune quickly.”

“If you’re going to be like that…” Charlotte leaned back in her chair and glanced to the water, then to the bustling kitchen, at everything and anything other than her wife.

“I’m just playing.” Becky reached over and put her hand over Charlotte’s knuckles, her beaming white teeth on show with the emphaticness of her smile. “We can go see the rocks tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Breakfast too?” Charlotte lifted a brow.

“Pushing it but sure, why not?”

“Well alright,” Charlotte sighed and played with Becky’s thumb. “Do you want to go back to the hotel and commit a private liberty crime with me as judged by the Lebanese Republic?” She lifted a playful eyebrow.

“Well when you put it like that…”

 

…

[ _[Hans Zimmer - You’re So Cool] - a song to set the scene_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bayyRPSXGq0)

Outside, the cicadas hummed on the wind of the evening air, and the breeze drifted the curtains and kept the room cool and airy. Charlotte leaned back against the headboard of one of the twin beds in the room and rubbed her sleepy head, unsure she had the energy to kick off her trousers now the food was beginning to settle.

The buzzing of the bathroom light and fan whirred, along with the occasional thump of Becky’s footsteps as the Irish woman brushed her teeth and got ready for bed. Charlotte sighed into the peacefulness of it and fiddled with her phone. The bathroom door unlocked and creaked open. Charlotte peered up, her eyes widening at the sight.

The black lingerie was nearly see through, it clung to Becky’s soft muscular frame in all the best ways possible. Her long taut legs were clad with the thin fabric of dark suspenders, her breasts cradled in the flimsy material of a bralet that was trying its hardest to contain her tan cleavage, her bright ginger hair was coiffed and falling behind each shoulder blade. Becky just stood there and smiled, well aware that she was the type of meal her wife would always be hungry for no matter how well satiated her appetite.

“Well hello to you too,” Charlotte licked her lips nervously.

“Avon calling,” Becky whispered and strolled over. “You want to push these beds together so I have more room to show you our Summer collection?” She danced a hand up and over her suspender belt. “So many new products to show you, so little time.”

“Oh god.” Charlotte’s eyes widened.

“Oh yeah,” Becky nodded with a mischievous smirk. “We’re doing this.”

Charlotte damn near flew off the sheets to wrestle the beds together.

“The greatest wife, the best wife ever, so weird, so perfect,” she mumbled to herself and wiped her sweating brow as the beds were pressed against one another. “You never realise just how in the mood you are for weird roleplay sex until it creeps up on you out of nowhere.” She nodded seriously.

She could tell Becky was trying to stifle laughter, which only somehow made the whole affair more perfect. Charlotte watched her saunter over, her jaw nearly dropping at the sight of it, teeth sitting on the edges of one another with excitement as two dainty hands slipped over each shoulder and pushed her backwards onto the double bed they had fashioned.

“Do you like my lipstick?” Becky whispered and crawled on top of her until she was sat on Charlotte’s hips. “Does the shade suite me?” She puckered up and kissed her cheek.

“What’s the colour called?” Charlotte choked out the words and played along as her wife’s fingers awoke goosebumps along her biceps.

Becky stopped and smirked again. “It’s called Frustrated Wife.” The laughter was forcefully withheld behind her tight lips and she raised a suggestive eyebrow. “We also have a sister shade called Criminal Lesbian Activity...” Becky slipped a hand down Charlotte’s belly towards her pant zipper. “I’m just _dying_ to show it to you, Mrs Flair.”

“Those seem like really off brand names for Avon shades?” Charlotte’s eyebrows did the thing.

“Shut up.”

“It’s just Frustrated Wife and Criminal Lesbian Activity don’t really seem like names for Avon colours you know? Maybe if we were doing an Urban Decay roleplay—”

“I said shut up,” Becky leaned forward and dropped her voice to a sultry whisper. “You’re ruining this.” She nibbled her earlobe. “You’re ruining it so bad.” A little giggle broke.

“Well alright.” Charlotte conceded as her pants were pulled off her hips. “So… how long have you been working for Avon? Are you… unionised?” She tried her hardest to get back into it.

“Mrs Flair!” Becky shot up with a playful gasp, her eyes widening a bit. “I have no idea how to respond to that piss-poor attempt at dirty talk and so I’m going to pretend it was a filthy euphemism!” She sing-songed slightly, burying herself forward until they were giggling nose to nose.

“Thank you for saving me,” Charlotte whispered and tucked her hands around the back of her wife’s thighs, sighing in relief. She adjusted Becky a bit and pulled her closer until they were tangled and warm, giggling slightly into the heat of each other like two happy idiots.

“Always,” Becky pecked her neck and slung her arms around the back of her shoulders. “You could never really ruin it if you tried.”

“So, given all of your expertise and many years of training,” Charlotte cleared her throat and felt her lips tug into a blushing smirk. “What kind of makeup do you think I should wear?” She leaned forward with an expectant stare.

Becky sighed and smiled. She grabbed Charlotte’s chin softly, her brown eyes glimmering with playfulness as she appraised the woman stuck between her finger and thumb. Finally, she let go of Charlotte’s chin and traced her finger down the slope of her nose, satisfied.

“Confidence is the sexiest thing a woman can wear.” Becky pushed a rope of blonde hair behind Charlotte’s ear. “And you have tons of it, baby, so I think you should wear that and nothing else.” Her hand slipped around Charlotte’s spine towards the bra strap.

“Well aren’t you smooth.”

“They teach it at Avon school, it’s all part of the sales pitch.”

“You must really sell a lot of lipstick.”

“I don’t get many returns or complaints, you’re quite correct.”

To Charlotte, the woman in her lap was insane. But the slackened smile, the way her eyes grew bigger when she met her eyes, the mischievous wriggle of her lips, the everything, just made her smile back.

Still smiling, she twisted their positions and put the troublemaker on her spine where she belonged. It was one of her favourite things to do truth be told, whether it be professional and violent or…  not so professional or violent. The first time they slept together she had expected it would crumble mountains, make the earth stop on its axis, but it was nothing like that. It was imperfect, silly even, and just like that it became the favourite most looked forward to part of her day.

“Nothing gets me going like when you’re in a stupid mood,” Charlotte chuckled as she kissed and nibbled.

“Does this make your top five?” Becky asked seriously.

“Oh, my top two for sure.” Charlotte nodded enthusiastically and slipped one of her black bra straps over the creamy ball of her shoulder. “Maybe even number one, the night’s still young.” She nibbled her collarbone.

“Number one, huh?” Becky raised a surprised brow. “I thought the _Paris situation_ was your favourite? You know I hate it when you go on tour without me...” She pouted slightly and played with the long blonde hair that framed Charlotte’s face. “Though, creative problems mean creative solutions.”

“We could have just had phone sex.” Charlotte whined. “You didn’t need to put a voodoo doll that looked like you in my luggage with a note to finger it every night.”

“Mmm, but I did though.” Becky smirked, utterly pleased with herself.

“You did,” Charlotte agreed and rolled her eyes, seeing the funny side. “You wanna let me get in these panties yet or are you planning on laying here all night giving me the memoriam reel of our sex life? Because I want you to scream my name so loud tonight that the police throw us in jail and Stonewall have to launch an appeal for our release… it would be a _hell_ of a vacation story.” Charlotte lifted a serious brow.

“Proceed.” Becky lifted a leg and popped one of the tiny clasps on her suspenders.

It was the strangest, nerdiest sense of arousal. One moment they were joking around and the next Becky’s slender leg was in the air with that barely-there lingerie popping open like a scene from the Moulin Rouge. Her wife would always be capable of doing that to her, Charlotte had long since given up the belief she even had the modicum of will power necessary to deny it — war zone or no war zone.

Charlotte dove forward and didn’t spare the lingerie, her hands tugging and making a meal of it as she sucked and nibbled the underside of her wife’s taut jaw. It earned little throttled gasps, pleased noises, happy moans, small giggles, everything and nothing. When slender nimble fingers creeped around and felt along the dips of her back muscles she knew the kind of mood her wife was in, the type where she wanted to be thrown around and made sore with unhinged arousal. Charlotte was more than happy to oblige.

“Shit!” Becky gasped, and not in a good way.

The twin beds parted like the red sea and their bodies made an instant cracking thud against the marble floor. Luckily, Becky’s body broke the fall and so Charlotte was relatively unscathed. The same couldn’t be said for the troublemaker.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Becky managed quite calmly and raised her sidebent knuckles. “Well I think I went and dislocated some of my fingers, that’s all we need!” She rolled her eyes at the mild inconvenience.

Charlotte nearly vomited.

“You think!? You think!?!?” Charlotte chided with wide eyes and couldn’t snatch her stare away from the injury. “Your middle finger is on the wrong way round, Becky! We need to go to the hospital!!” She pointed, horrified.

“Well there’s no need to be a drama queen about it,” Becky said quietly.

“We’re going to the emergency room.”

“For a few dislocated fingers?” Becky raised and incredulous brow. “You do know the emergency room is for emergencies only, right?” Becky pushed out her mangled hand. “Just give them a hard tug and I’ll be right as rain. I can’t promise I’ll be able to finger you tonight but I’ll give it a good go—”

“Your fingers look like fucking Crunchy Cheetos. If you think you’re _ever_ putting them inside me again...” She hid her face away so she wouldn’t have to look at them. “I don’t know if we’re ever going to have sex again, babe, I really don’t.” Charlotte swallowed hard.

“Oh for goodness sake,” Becky clambered up with a roll of her eyes as if Charlotte was being entirely unreasonable. She breezed straight past her and walked out of the room. “I’m going to reset and splint my fingers in the bathroom and when I come out you better be ready to kiss me where it counts. First day of our holiday and you’ve got your knickers in a twist over a few twisted fingers, shame of my bloody life!” She pointed one of her mangled fingers accusingly, albeit the finger was bent sideways and so it pointed off towards the drawers.

 

…

 

“I’m fine,” Becky slurred the attempt at trying to sound decisive as her wife shouldered her towards the plane they were now running slightly late for.

“You woke up crying three times. I had to wander the streets of Beirut at four this morning to find a pharmacy willing to sell me painkillers using traveller’s cheques. You are not fine. We are not fine. This is not fine.” Charlotte reminded, glancing at the bruised splinted fingers that were now straight and swollen.

“Traveller’s cheques.” Becky giggled to herself under her breath. “You’re such an old lady.”

“Well now you’re just being rude,” Charlotte couldn’t help but smirk.

“You still love me?”

“More than the air I breathe,” Charlotte didn’t skip a beat as the short troublemaker hopped and clutched at her arm.

“All things said and done I think this might be the best trip of my life so far,” Becky hmph’d tiredly and pressed her sleepy face against Charlotte’s arm as the line for the flight slowly came to a stop. “Here, with you, right now.”

“Relax,” Charlotte smirked and shook her head.

“I could be in a warzone and still have the best time so long as I was with my wife.”

“Becky—”

“I know, don’t spoil it.”

“Well alright,” Charlotte blinked and craned down to kiss the troublemaker’s temple. “Thank you for never letting me be annoyed for too long.” They shuffled forward towards the plane doors.

“You try so hard,” Becky pouted and patted her belly.

“You work me like a pro.” Charlotte eyeballed her seriously.

“Well, the Avon sales training is very thorough.”

“Excuse me?” Charlotte blushed and feigned ignorance.

Becky peered up at her mischievously. “Oh, you heard me." She glanced away with a smirk.

 

 

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